


It's Not Confidential (i've got potential)

by SageMasterofSass



Series: Requests [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bullying, Derek's Alpha Form, Hurt!Stiles, I mean it's p obvious they're gonna go bang, M/M, Prompt Fill, Protective!Derek, Stiles getting beat up, kinda pre-slash, maybe i should write a sequel, request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 01:17:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4371578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SageMasterofSass/pseuds/SageMasterofSass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To fill the following prompt;</p>
<p>Stiles is being bullied and won't tell Derek or the pack because he doesn't want them to think he's weak</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not Confidential (i've got potential)

**Author's Note:**

> Look at that. Another fic with a lyrical title. (Seriously, go through my works, I'd bet at least half of them or more are named after music)
> 
> In other news, anon I'm sorry for how long this took me, but hopefully it was worth the wait!

Somewhere down the hallway, a locker slams and Stiles can’t help the way he flinches at the noise. Beside him, Scott shoots him a worried glance.

“You okay, dude?”

“Yeah,” he says, shaking the spike of adrenaline away as best he can, and giving his best friend a crooked smile. Its fake, but Scott obviously can’t tell if the way he grins and claps Stiles on the shoulder is any indication. The touch should be friendly, but it just hurts instead.

“Cool. So I’ll see you at Derek’s?”

“Totally. We’re meeting in like an hour, right?”

“Right.” 

Scott shoots him another smile before spying Allison across the hall and wandering off towards her, probably to walk her out to the parking lot. It’s like she’s got some kind of magnetic gravity field that only works on Scott, and whenever’s she near he simply can’t help himself from orbiting her. It’s honestly kind of cute. His only complaint is that when Scott’s caught up in her, he completely forgets about Stiles, like now.

Stiles sighs and thumps his head back against his locker, the metal rattling behind him. The school is emptying slowly, students and teachers alike filtering towards the front doors and into sweet, sweet freedom. Stiles should be joining them, rejoicing about the end of the school week, but instead-

“Hey, asshole!”

Repressing a shiver at the voice, Stiles turns to face it. The hall is almost completely empty by this point, except for three other students approaching him, two guys and a girl. They’re all seniors, he knows this, all a year older than him. The boys are both big and bulky, one taller than Stiles (a serious feat ever since he hit his growth spurt) and the other shorter, and the girl is small and dainty in a way that would remind him of Lydia if she didn’t carry herself like she’s a big cat about to pounce on hapless prey. The senior girl, not Lydia. Lydia carries herself like she’s fucking royalty and everybody around her better know and appreciate it.

“You got what we asked for?” asks the taller guy when they’re all standing only a few feet away. Stiles thinks his name might be Chad, but he’s not completely sure. He doesn’t particularly care either.

His voice tries to stick in his throat when he answers. “Yeah.”

“Give it here then,” snaps the girl, who he knows is named Marissa. She also snaps her fingers at him, the other hand on her cocked hip, a picture of impatience.

Stiles takes a moment to dig through his backpack before emerging with several stapled sheets of paper. They’re answer sheets for one of the higher math classes, and just looking at them makes Stiles’ gut churn uncomfortably. His moral compass might be a little more than crooked sometimes, but only when it comes to keeping the people he loves and cares about safe. These seniors? Definitely not on this list. So stealing answers from a teacher’s locked desk isn’t something he’s entirely comfortable with. Or comfortable with at all, really. If Scott had asked him to do this he would have hit the werewolf upside the head and told him to fucking study.

That’s not an option with these guys.

The third guy, Bruno or Brad or Brian, something with a B, snatches the papers out of his hands with a sneer.

Stiles’ shoulder twinges where Scott grabbed him earlier, the same place B-name had kicked him last week when he’d been on the ground. Call it their unique way of convincing him to get those answer sheets. Half the pain is just remembered, the other half is the dark purple bruise he still sports.

Possibly-Chad takes the papers from B-name while Definitely-Melissa pops her gum. They all glance over them quickly and Stiles tries to take the opportunity to sidle out and away from them before they decide they have another ‘errand’ they need him to run.

Possibly-Chad’s hand closes around his arm just as he’s about to make a casual break for it and Stiles’ heart sinks.

“The fuck you trying to pull?” His voice is a growl and he jerks Stiles towards him, until they’re chest to chest and Stiles has to crane his neck back to keep eye contact. It’s an uncomfortable position made even more so by the fact that he can smell Possibly-Chad’s breath from here. Dude needs a mint or something, damn.

“These,” he continues, and as if he was waiting for that cue, B-name grabs Stiles’ other arm, pulling him around so that he can shove the mess of papers against Stiles’ chest, “are last week’s tests.”

Fuck. Stiles had really been hoping they wouldn’t be smart enough to notice. He can’t really help the fact that he’s an inherent asshole, not even with the people who smack him around on a regular basis. Especially not with them.

“Oops,” he says, shrugging his shoulders lamely, and really he should have tried to keep all three of them in his line of sight because he’s caught off guard by the feeling of sharp claw-like nails on the back of his neck. They dig in and drag down, pulling the collar of his shirt with them so that it hikes up too high in the front and presses on his throat.

“You little shit,” Marissa hisses from behind him. He stumbles back against her as she yanks, can’t help the pained noise that leaves him as her nails cut deeper.

She’s fucking half his weight and almost a foot shorter than him, she shouldn’t be able to push him to his knees, but that’s exactly what she does.

Shame burns hot and bright in Stiles’ stomach, distracting even as one of the guys lands a punch across his jaw.

He runs with werewolves for Christ’s sake. He’s faced Alpha’s and the kanima, witches, fae, and on one memorable occasion, a demon. But three older humans corner him and suddenly he’s practically helpless. There’s no fighting back against them, not if he doesn’t want anyone else to know. And god, he doesn’t want anyone else to know. He’s already the weakest member of the pack, what are they going to think of him if they know about this?

In the beginning, he’d tried to fight back against them. But three against one isn’t an even fight, and after kicking his ass they’d threatened to take all of the very visible bruises he’d given them to a school official, blame the entire thing on him. It would have been too easy to convince any of the teachers, considering all of the bruises the three gave Stiles were hidden under his clothing, by their design of course. Couple that with the reputation Stiles has made for himself, of being loud and uncontrollable and possibly crazy, and they definitely would have taken the seniors’ side.

Now, Stiles just tries to keep himself as pain free as possible while also still putting up some resistance. He’ll deal with all of it so long as he doesn’t get in any more trouble with the school, and by extension his father. There are too many lies and too much tension at home for Stiles to get suspended. The only other thing he cares about is making sure the pack absolutely never finds out.  Stiles is actually kind of glad the seniors always hit in him places he can cover up, because hiding things from werewolves? Yeah, not easy. But he manages.

“You’re going to go back in there, right now, and get us the answer sheets we asked for,” Chad says.

Trying to fight the urge to rub his aching jaw, Stiles spits, “And why should I?”

B-Name kicks him squarely in the gut, so that Stiles splutters and coughs, arms instinctively curling around his middle as he hunches forward to protect himself. He spends several seconds wheezing trying to get his breath back. The bruise he can already feel forming on his stomach pulses in time with the one on his jaw.

 “You’ll do it because we damn well told you to,” Marissa hisses from behind him, digging her nails even more harshly into Stiles’ neck.

He doesn’t want to give in. He desperately doesn’t want to give in, not to these three idiots, not when it will make him feel small and weak and worthless. But he can feel his resolve slipping when he picks his head up only to feel a fist connect once more with his face, on the opposite side of where they’d hit him before.

These answer sheets must be really important to them. They never hit him where the marks will show.

It takes Marissa whispering cruel words in his ear and one more blow to his jaw before Stiles gives in.

“Alright!” he cries, body thrumming with pain and humiliation. They pause, wait for him to finish. “Alright, I’ll do it.”

Chad’s grin is sharp and at one point Stiles would have described it as wolfish, but not since he started hanging out with actual werewolves.

“Good boy,” B-Name gushes, voice honey sweet and sarcastic. The words make Stiles want to curl into himself and vomit, but he strangles the urge as Marissa backs off and he’s able to climb slowly, laboriously to his feet.

“We’ll wait for you at the front of the school,” says Chad.

Marissa slides a small hand along his hip as she circles around him. “Don’t even think about running, bitch. We have ways of finding you.”

And with those ominous words (seriously though? like it’s hard to track down the sheriff’s son in a town this small) they all saunter away, laughing amongst themselves about the pale, pathetic junior under their thumbs.

Stiles stands in the hallway for several long minutes, considering his options. It’s just procrastination though, because there’s only thing for him to do, and that is to go get those answer sheets before the seniors come back for him. If he ditches, if he runs, they’ll just hunt him down over the weekend or next Monday at school. And retribution will be harsh, unforgiving.

Probably in front of the pack, too.

With a sigh, Stiles heads for the unfamiliar math classroom on the second floor. Unlike last time he did this, the door is locked, and he has to spend several minutes picking it without damaging the damn thing.

Lock picking, it’s one of those skills he decided to pick up when he became the boy who runs with wolves.

Once inside, Stiles starts on the locked desk. It’s a little bit more challenging, but since he’s already done it once before, it only takes him a little over five minutes to get it open. By that point his whole torso is aching from kneeling on the ground for so long, and he deposits his aching body in the teacher’s thick leather chair with a groan.

He doesn’t really want to see what his stomach looks like, but he pushes his shirt up anyways because he needs to know what he’s working with here. Judging by the darkening purple dotted like absent minded paint, he might just need to skip that meeting at Derek’s today. There’s no way he’ll be able to hide all of this, especially with his face swelling like it is.

Oh, shit. Derek’s.

Stiles scrambles around in his pocket until he finds his phone. It had been on silent the whole day and he winces when he sees that not only was he supposed to be at his Alpha’s like over half an hour ago, he’s also got a myriad of text messages and missed calls from a worried pack.

Maybe he could claim a sudden and violent illness. Or temporary insanity. Either one really.

To do that though, he needs to get these answer sheets and then get home before any of the wolves try looking for him there. If they haven’t already, that is.

Even as Stiles is rooting through the teacher’s desk his phone, still on silent for obvious reasons, flashes a new call at him. Derek. Stiles resolutely ignores it, Alpha or not.

He’s just found the correct answer sheets and is putting away the ones from last week when he hears footsteps from down the hall. Freezing, Stiles listens carefully, heart hammering quickly. It’s probably just a janitor, right?

“Stiles?”

Fuck.

Definitely not a janitor.

Stiles hurriedly puts the new sheets in his backpack and then closes up the teacher’s desk, relocking it. Then he vaults himself up just as Derek pushes open the door, face set in a pissed yet slightly confused scowl.

For a moment the Alpha just scans the room, like maybe he’ll find the reason Stiles has been ignoring his calls and texts simply laying out in the open. He should really know Stiles better than that by this point.

Neither of them says anything until Derek caves. “The fuck are you doing, Stiles?” he sighs, exasperated to the max.

It’s a really good question, and Stiles has absolutely no idea how to answer it. He doesn’t get the chance to think up a lie though, because his space is suddenly being invaded by two hundred pounds of dark, broody werewolf.

“What happened?” Derek growls, rough voice belayed by the gentle fingers under Stiles’ chin, turning his face this way and that so that the Alpha can get a good view of his bruises. “Who did this to you?”

Shit.

Abort mission, abort mission!

Stiles laughs loudly and rather awkwardly, pulling himself out of Derek’s grip and backing up a few paces. “Nobody, nobody!” he says, going for amused and landing somewhere between constipated and nervous. “I did it to myself. You know me, always so clumsy, tripping over my own feet and shit all the time.”

Derek narrows his eyes, nostrils flaring like he’s scenting the air which, hey, invasion of privacy much?

“The three kids by the front of the school,” he says decisively, turning promptly on his heel and stalking out of the room.

Acting on instinct, Stiles runs after him, managing to grab Derek’s shoulder before he even reaches the stairs. “Wait!” the human cries, and though Derek could easily pull out of his grasp, he doesn’t.

Stiles flounders for words for a moment, because really what the fuck is he supposed to say? He can’t let Derek know, can’t let anyone see just how pathetic he is, letting himself be pushed around. But he doesn’t have a plausible story for his bruises, and apparently the Alpha has already smelled the seniors on Stiles.

“I,” he starts, but Derek cuts him off.

“Were you hiding from them up here?” the wolf asks, glancing over his shoulder at Stiles, face hard and eyes bleeding red around the edges.

“What?” Stiles squeaks. Hiding? No, that’s almost worse than acting as some kind of gopher! Almost. “Of course not, what the fuck man?”

“Then why do you smell like them and pain?”

Fuck. Think Stiles, think.

“Look, one of them accidently pushed me down the stairs, okay? It wasn’t there faults, they helped me up and everything.”

Suddenly, Derek is growling low in his throat and Stiles is backed up against the nearest wall, one clawed hand twisted in the front of his t-shirt.

“Stop. Lying.” the Alpha damn near spits.

“I’m not lying!” Stiles insists, ignoring the way his voice wavers slightly.

The growling grows in strength and volume. “I can hear your heartbeat Stiles, I know when you’re lying.”

Frustration, anger, and helplessness well up in Stiles’ chest and he has to fight back the sting in his eyes. He didn’t want anyone to know! He didn’t want the pack to see him like this, and of course when he gets found out it’s by the one person whose opinion matters the most to him.

“Stiles?” Derek asks, tone softer than before, grip loosening until he’s not quite holding the human in place and looming over him rather than just being close. Belatedly, Stiles realizes he’s shaking.

Sucking in a large breath, he holds it for a second, and then lets it go again. The pressure under his breastbone doesn’t abate, nor does the swell of unshed tears, which just serves to piss him off even more.

“What do you want me to say, Derek?” he finally snaps, voice wrecked. “Want me to tell you about the fucking answer sheets in my backpack that they made me get for them? How about the fact that I’m literally covered in bruises and half of them aren’t even fresh. I can tell you about how they threaten me to get me to do what they want, and then once I have they still beat me up anyways. Oh, but they’re careful. They usually never bruise me in visible places, I just really pissed them off today.”

Derek’s expression had grown more open and slack with every word, shock, anger and worry warring for dominance on his features.

“Stiles,” he whispers, but Stiles just snarls, “What? I know it’s pathetic, Derek, you don’t have to tell me. I’ve got the damn supernatural under my thumb half the time but put me up against three regular old humans and I’ll roll over and show my belly. Why the fuck did you think I didn’t want to say anything? Nobody wants to go around broadcasting how weak they are.”

His body chooses that exact moment to betray him, and the tears he’d been trying to hold at bay start to slip down his cheeks, scalding and itchy against his skin. He rubs irritably at his face, ducking his gaze from where he’d been holding Derek’s before trying to push past the werewolf. When Derek doesn’t move, Stiles grits his teeth, shoving harder with a growled but weak sounding, “Move!”

“Stiles,” the Alpha says again, and Stiles is tempted to call him out on sounding like a broken record.

“Stiles,” Derek repeats, more urgently when the human still won’t look at him.

Finally, the wolf snaps Stiles’ name one last time and grabs his face gently between two large, warm palms, forcing Stiles to look Derek in the eye.

Stiles gives a little sniffle but doesn’t respond.

“I don’t think you’re weak,” Derek starts with, and when Stiles opens his mouth to argue, he growls low in his throat. “No, you had your turn, now you’re going to listen to me. I don’t think you’re weak, Stiles, or pathetic. You’re being bullied and that is in no way your fault. What is your fault, however, is not going to anyone sooner with this. Suffering in silence doesn’t make you stronger, it just makes you stupid. If you didn’t want to tell the pack you could have at least told a teacher or something.”

“It would have been a lot of unnecessary drama,” Stiles mutters.

“Well then you should have told one of the pack, one of your friends. We could have protected you.”

If there were room to, Stiles would have jerked away from Derek, but as it is he’s stuck with those too hot hands pressed to his face, keeping him in place. So he grimaces instead. “I don’t want to be protected.”

Sensing his discomfort, the Alpha drops his hold and steps back a pace. His frown twitches into something of a smirk. “You never want to be protected.”

“Damn right,” Stiles sniffles, wiping the last of his drying tears off his face. “Now come on Big Bad, I’ve gotta get these answer sheets to them.”

Derek catches his arm as the human tries to walk past him, already frowning again. “Go put those back. You’re not helping them cheat.”

“What so they can beat me up some more? I don’t think so. And before you say anything, no I’m not letting you or any of the pack step in for me.”

“I have an idea.”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “There’s a reason I’m the plan maker, Derek.”

Derek growls. “Do you want to hear it or not?” The _you ungrateful little shit_ is implied.

Huffing, Stiles rolls his eyes but relents. “Fine, what’ve you Alpha o’mine.”

“You don’t want us to protect you.”

“Correct.”

“But what about having back up?”

Stiles considers that for a second, head cocked curiously to the side. “You want me to beat them up?” he asks suspiciously.

“Not exactly. More like, you threaten them to leave you alone and I look menancing enough that you don’t have to follow through on those threats.”

“Derek, you’re not a wanted criminal anymore but I can’t say threatening high school kids is going to do anything for your reputation.”

“I never said they’d know it was me.”

Stiles snorts. “You’re pretty recognizable, dude, especially in a town this small.”

Derek simply raises an eyebrow, like he’s waiting for Stiles to realize something. The human squints at him, racking his brain to try and figure out just what that look means. When he gets it, his eyes go wide, mouth opening in surprise.

“You’d do that for me?”

The Alpha smirks.

oOo

Chad, B-Name, and Marissa are all lounging on the front steps of the school when Stiles comes out of the building, chatting and laughing away.

Stiles clears his throat to get their attention and all three climb to their feet, the boys flanking Marissa when she slinks up to him. Once again, she holds her hand out and snaps her fingers at him.

“Were you a good boy who did what he was told?” she coos.

“Eh,” Stiles says, sticking his hands in his pockets and giving an unconcerned shrug of his shoulders. “I didn’t feel like it.”

The girl’s face goes hard and dark, petite features twisting angrily. “Excuse me?”

“I said,” Stiles answers, speaking slowly and carefully, “that I didn’t. Feel. Like. It.”

Chad takes a threatening step forward, hands balled into fists and mouth open like he’s ready to verbally rip Stiles a new one, but Stiles takes a step back and speaks before the senior gets the chance. If he has to fight down a bubble of fear well then, they don’t need to know that.

“See, here’s the thing,” he says, carefully keeping his body language loose and relaxed. “I think I’m done doing what you guys tell me to do. It’s gotten kind of boring, and frankly, you’re all assholes.”

“What makes you think we’re going to _let_ you?” B-Name asks.

“I think you’re not going to have much of a choice.”

All three of them make to move towards Stiles, but a low, threatening growl gives them pause.

Derek’s Alpha form is tall and has black scruffy fur with small dashes of white on his chest and paws. His eyes are his human green-hazel and they look bright and deadly intelligent set in his dark, narrowed face. With his lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl as he circles around Stiles’ legs to stand at his side, he’s truly menacing looking.

Trying to act as unconcerned as possible, Stiles lays a hand on top of Derek’s head. The growling stops instantly, and the seniors stare in shock.

 “Is that a fucking wolf?” B-Name eventually chokes out.

“I think he’s some kind of mutt,” Stiles says, ignoring the glare Derek shoots his way. “But it doesn’t really matter what kind of dog he is. What does matter is that he’s highly trained and that I can send him after you pretty much any time I want.”

Marissa looks like maybe she’d like to argue with that, but she’s still eyeing Derek warily and Stiles can already tell he’s won, even before she takes a step back. The boys follow her lead, although Chad is still glaring and his hands are still in fists.

“Watch your back, Stilinksi,” he spits, and then he turns and leads the other two towards a several cars in the parking lot.

Once they’ve driven off, Stiles can’t help collapsing onto the steps with a huff of breathless laughter, half amusement, half dissipating adrenaline. The concrete is cool when he leans his elbows on the step behind him, dropping his head back onto his shoulders. Derek appears above him, human and fully clothed and with a small smirk on his face.

“See?” he says, “Not weak.”

Stiles snorts and sits up as Derek drops down next to him. “Are you kidding me? My heart was pounding so fucking fast, man.”

“Just make sure you tell someone if that ever happens again, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Derek bumps him with his shoulder. “I’m serious, Stiles, you have people who care about you who would do anything for you. Let them help you from time to time.”

Feeling his cheeks heat, Stiles side eyes the wolf. “Anything for me, huh?” he says after a moment.

Without even looking at him head on, Stiles can tell Derek rolls his eyes. “Yeah, anything. Now get up, you’re coming back to the loft so I can check over all your bruises.”

Stiles hauls himself to his feet and, face still red, mutters a soft, “You just want to get me out of my clothes.”

He can tell Derek heard him because the Alpha’s face flushes too, but he doesn’t deny the accusation.

**Author's Note:**

> I take requests on my [tumblr](http://scribespirare.tumblr.com/), but please know that not every request gets a 4k fic. Just kinda depends on how much I like the prompt.


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